


Please drink, dilly dally, and daydream responsibly.

by popocco



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alcohol, Domesticity, Emetophobia, Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Violence, Not Very Secret Relationship, Piggyback Rides, but there IS a fair amount of throwing up, fambly, for anyone who's not great with that, general drunkenness and discussion of being drunk, i mean it's only six people and a dog but that's a lot for me, nothing really disgusting or graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popocco/pseuds/popocco
Summary: Gintoki has a really weird night.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this... got waaaaaaaaaay away from me. i've been working on this "oneshot" for like four months already, watching it get more and more absurdly long, and today i decided to just not force anybody to scroll through one big 17k+ chunk at once. how kind of me.
> 
> there will be lots and lots more notes at the very end, but for now: enjoy this fucking bizarre labour of love.

Sougo is trying to get him fired again, with everything he’s got in that horrible twisted little head of his.

That’s the only explanation.

Three hours ago is when it was put into motion, but Hijikata should have noticed the signs long before then. Ever since hearing about this perfunctory pain in the ass banquet with the usual slew of rotten, ignorant, money-bloated bakufu higher ups, the number of his regular casual death threats definitely dropped. It’s only obvious now that it’s too late, but Hijikata can’t do much more at the moment than curse his own lack of foresight.

Seeing, walking, even staying on his feet- all of these things are considerably more difficult than wishing he’d realized quicker what was happening .

He is more drunk off his ass than he can ever remember being in his entire goddamn life, in full uniform, and he has _no_ idea where he is. 

… Well, he’s in Edo.

Probably?

That’s where the ryoukan was, at least. Somewhere quiet near the outskirts, but not far enough away to be less extravagant for it. A likely favourite of those wrinkled old ballsacks keeping the Shinsengumi funded- perfect for acting as a clear, unspoken reminder that at the end of the day they’re all on a leash, only let out to roam at the whim of people with influence to throw around as they see fit.

The plan had been the usual: Hijikata would grit his teeth and put on an agreeable face, reply in agreeable monosyllabic phrases, and pour drinks for the detestable fucking geezers until they all got tired of watching their guests grovel. Be on hand for damage control when Kondou-san inevitably got too nervous to politely decline any more of the cups offered in his direction, make sure he didn’t get too naked.

That’s how these things always go- that’s how tonight _should_ have gone.

At some point Hijikata had found himself getting an unusual amount of attention, which is to say, a whole lot more than none. Being as disengaged as just barely acceptably possible had always been the perfect way to duck away from the interest of everyone in the room, and stay on top of supervising the more potentially troublesome of the lot instead. It had been working just fine.

Until, over all the chatter, a young, eager, disgustingly cheerful and familiar voice made it to his ears from somewhere down the table, already half way through the utter lie that decided his doom then and there:

“--not just about the way he fights you know, he’s got the liver of an oni too. Our Hijikata-san can match every drink with three- he’s _suuuuuuuuper_ modest about it, but he could put everyone here on the floor in thirty minutes. Yeah, it’s amazing, seriously. I’d call it one of Edo’s seven wonders.”

And that was it.

He can’t remember the finer details at all anymore but it seemed like every single one of the officials in the room was excitedly shoving expensive alcohol at him together in the mood for a show, and the version of him from that distant past, that goddamn piece of shit bastard Hijikata Toushirou of three hours ago, couldn’t find a way out.

“Toushi, never drink sitting down,” Kondou-san had begged him years ago back in Bushu, in the middle of puking his own guts out. He’d snuck into his father’s secret reserve in a fit of pique one night, and the finely aged stuff from under the floorboard wrecked him more quickly and brutally than a stomach flu. Hijikata had been the one lurking around outside the splash zone to make sure he didn’t pass out with his head in the toilet.

“You’re tough, so you’ll feel fine, but when you try to get up and move that’s when- _nnhhrrgk_ -”

Whatever else he’d had to teach was long since flushed away from the dojo’s plumbing. Hijikata had gotten the gist of it anyways.

… He suddenly, desperately, wishes he hadn’t remembered a story about vomit.

The dark ground of whatever alleyway he’s wound up in is wobbling and twisting around like it’s the horizon of some weird European painting, and the feeling of breath coming from his mouth is making him sickeningly conscious of the fact that he _has_ a mouth, and a throat, and a stomach.

Somewhere behind the thick gummy fog crushing his senses, Hijikata knows that the best thing to do would be to just throw up and get it over with. He’ll feel better as soon as he clears his system a bit. Experience and logic both support this.

But… vomiting feels awful. It feels really terrible. It _looks_ terrible.

It looks especially terrible when the notoriously prudent vice chief of a special task force is doing it while he’s ostensibly on duty in the middle of the city.

Swallowing feels dangerous but his mouth filling with spit is bad too. His tongue and the insides of his cheeks are dry and numb, so how come they’re making so much goddamn spit?

The wall Hijikata’s pathetically propped up against is rough but it’s nice and cool at least. It’s a much better sensation to dwell on. It feels like it could be made of wood, or maybe concrete? Those are two very different materials, but he can’t tell either way.

Where is he right now, seriously.

It feels far enough back to be a lifetime ago, but he does vaguely remember sitting in the passenger seat of a car. They’d all taken squad vehicles to escort the “patrons” of the evening, right. He can still kind of feel the leather on the cushion sticking to his face. All the colourful lights out the window had made his head throb, so he’d shut his eyes.

And now he’s in an alley by himself, standing instead of laying in a heap but just barely. Right.

… right.

…

… No, no it’s _not_ right, what the hell. The progression of events is completely wrong. It’s the fucking study guide version. He could pass a written test maybe but if  anyone tried to actually ask about the deeper meaning or symbolism here, he’d be shit out of luck.

This… is the worst. Hijikata knows that he’s frustrated, with himself, with this ridiculous mess he’s in, with _Sougo_ that little skidmark. But he doesn’t feel frustrated. He feels dizzy and nauseated. And that’s frustrating too.

He needs to come up with some kind of… plan. He’s the guy who makes plans. If he could just concentrate on anything but the way the entire planet Earth is trying to eat itself under his feet.

Hijikata tries shutting his eyes, expecting it to feel like the very end of one of those dreams where he’s falling through nothing then wakes up when he hits the futon. Instead, he’s still just queasy and unbalanced, without being able to see the alleyway anymore.

Well, fine, there’s nothing to see in it besides some garbage anyways. Even if there was, his vision is blurred more to hell than it was the last time he watched Totoro on TV.

After a humiliatingly long period spent trying to figure out if, oh god, he’s not actually crying right now is he, (he’s not), Hijikata recalls that he’s supposed to be getting his bearings. He starts with deciding to take inventory of… whatever he’s got at his disposal here. That couldn’t hurt.

… Something sort of does hurt, grinding into his hip bone between his body and the wall. His sword, right, for all the good it’ll do in this situation. If he could cut away being drunk, like lancing a big sore, or whacking a party member with confusion, he would have already tried it. He’s good at cutting things.

Sougo is gonna fucking die the next time they meet.

Right, ok, he has his sword. Apart from that, he’s got… a _fuck_ ton of pockets between his jacket and his trousers, Jesus. He thinks there are probably a bunch of rectangle-shaped things scattered throughout them that might be useful, but if he shifts his balance away from the wall to check he could be eating dirt in half a second.

Living the life he does, Hijikata is used to constantly assessing the risks within his surroundings. And the risk of falling directly on to his face if he so much as breathes in the wrong direction is, right now, a 90% at minimum.

He’s survived this long with a combination of instinct, luck, and calculated action. His luck ran out back in the ryoukan, and his instincts are telling him that if he ends up on the ground in his current state, that’s where he’s going to stay until morning. So what he’s going to do is think, rethink, prepare, and then act.

Hijikata takes some focusing breaths around the nausea bubbling at his centre. The split moment before it stops at the side of his neck, he recognizes the sound of a blade moving quietly, but not silently, through the air.

“Turn around slow, bakufu dog. Let’s see if you’re a prizewinner, huh?”

He should have known.

Sougo isn’t trying to get him fired- he’s trying to get him killed.


	2. Part 1

The night is young, and Gintoki is too goddamn old to still be as sober as he is.

Hasegawa-san got weepy after one drink. He’s been in a horrible funk lately, the kind that gets ten times worse with a bit of alcohol, for everybody. So being the kind and considerate soul that he is, Gintoki saw him off and all but tucked him into bed with a kiss on the brow like dear old mum would. And now here he is with barely a buzz, half his winnings from pachinko gone on somebody else’s cab fare, walking around Kabukicho by himself on a Saturday like a loser.

There are all sorts of fun options surrounding him, lit up on neon signs and being passed around on discount coupons and flyers and the like, but as depressing as it is to admit to himself Gintoki was counting on having some company to drag around tonight. Otae’s place is always there to fall back on, but she’d likely just kick him out for asking instead of bestowing the pity drink that he unquestionably deserves, and he’s already in a bad enough mood. The old bag’s a slightly better shot at a free glass of something, but is that really worth having to deal with Catherine needling him the entire time?

He kind of wants to just go home and sleep off this whole miserable attempt at a decent night out. Kagura will make fun of him if he does that though, in that scalding nonchalant way that somehow only a teenager can manage.

Why are all the women in his life so _mean?_

Aaaaaaaagghh how annoying, really, the whole thing start to finish is just unacceptably annoying- annoying to make plans with someone like they’re organizing a _date_ or something, annoying to be blown off for work, annoying to have to settle on a party pooper divorcee in denial for his drinking partner instead, fucking annoying to be blown off _again_ \- it’s all so impossibly annoying that he’s annoyed with himself just for dwelling on all this bullshit.

Before he does anything else Gintoki is going to kick the first garbage can he sees right into orbit and vent some of this irritation. Maybe he’ll get lucky and knock down that moneybags Tatsuma, and the night will be halfway salvaged.

… But wait a sec, do the businesses here put out their trash every night, or on the same schedule as houses do? He’s been face down in enough lumpy black plastic to have a degree in it, but he never paid attention to the date in those situations before, damn him. It has to be a trash _can_ anyways, kicking a loose bag of garbage is just gross and unsatisfying.

Well, alright, glancing around between all the buildings he doesn’t see any, so whatever! Time to go find his _own_ garbage can to kick! What a fantastic way to spend a lively weekend evening!! Woohoo!!!

Unconsciously, with his rising frustration, Gintoki’s footsteps have sped to an agitated power walk and taken him out of the core entertainment district into the more blatantly sketchy part of the neighbourhood. It’s all dark storefronts here, and they’re all definitely in on the protection racket of that 7:3 Hair Part Ratio group or whatever their name is.

… Hm.

Wait a minute, yeah, this works too. A real fight is loads better than a fight with a trash can. This is perfect.

Yeah, you know what? He has been _extremely_ well behaved lately! Nobody could begrudge him some good old fashioned fisticuffs with a couple of ne’er-do-wells. He’d be doing a public service.

Not like there’s anybody around to quibble about “causing trouble” anyways, nope, he’d not be so starved for occupation in the first place if _somebody_ like that was around.

Alright. He’ll loiter here for a bit- loitering is a specialty of his after all. Then eventually, a couple of grunts, or _ooh_ maybe a minor executive and his lackeys, yeah, _that_ will do nicely- they’ll swagger on up, naturally suspicious of a handsome guy like himself on their turf all by his lonesome, and the rest will be poetry.

 

_Sorry ‘bout your face;_

_Go to a clinic later,_

_You unlucky bums._

  * Sakata Gintoki



 

… Eh, not his best, but who’s keeping track.

There isn’t a lot of it, but the amount of foot traffic coming through is greater than zero, boding optimistic for Gintoki’s master plan of some contained ruckus. So far it’s all just people trickling to and from the bars and clubs though, some leaning on each other to keep steady after a much better night than his own. Tch.

Ten minutes or so, spent watching the same slow parade of completely normal citizens, is a long enough time and then some for it to sink in just how luck-based this “plan” actually is. Like hoping to see Winner! on your popsicle stick after you finish eating it, and that _never_ happens to him. Hell, organized crime has the resources to party a hundred times harder and louder than his own sorry income allows- they’re all probably out living it up too, the dirty slackers.

Yep, the whole damn world is enjoying its Saturday night, and it’s a waste of time trying any harder to join them. Good for them though. No hard feelings.

Shamefully, Gintoki decides to try setting his sights on something more befitting the pitiful old geezer that he obviously is. Maybe he’ll go stare at the river for an hour or five.

Before he can fully commit to contemplating his twilight years by the water’s edge, there’s an odd, near imperceptible change in the immediate atmosphere. That faint familiar knot of excitement between his heart and stomach advises his senses to sharpen, and as they do he just barely catches a man’s gaze flicking away from him as he passes by with a small entourage.

The clothing and manner of this group aren’t any different from those of the other people milling about on their ways, but the swords they all wear stand out like an awkward erection in a class photo.

Unmistakably joui, aren’t they.

… Well, not like it’s his problem.

If they don’t cause any problems, they’re nobody’s problem. No problem at all, here. As long as they just keep on walking along, then things will stay perfectly problem-free.

Casually, because he doesn’t really care, Gintoki watches them keep going a few blocks into the distance until they’re about action figure-sized. One of them looks off to the side at something between some buildings. He stops, motions at his friends, and they all stop. They stand there for a few seconds. Then they all swiftly move in the direction the first guy pointed to, out of sight, hands already at their blades.

… Ahhh, shit.

It’s always like this. Why is it _always_ like this?

Before he even gets in spitting distance of the corner they all disappeared around, the sounds of a fairly textbook beatdown start bouncing out of the alleyway. The section of the street it’s happening adjacent to is now conspicuously empty. Whatever poor bastard’s under the boot in there is at least still alive, from the feel of things- for the moment.

Gintoki slips into the alley with his bokuto drawn and ready for action, though he isn’t expecting much of it with this big of a drop on the dipshits. They’re all having so much fun wailing on the sucker on the ground there that they haven’t noticed him at all. Not that he’d ordinarily let them anyways.

As expected, the first three go down with a quick whack to the noggin each before the others even clue in on what’s happening. When his buddies drop, the one with his sword out wheels around to take a swipe with it, but his shock’s made him so sluggish that his front is still wide open for a good hard blow to the forehead. In the meantime, the last one has already smashed his own elbow into the wall trying to draw his weapon in the cramped little passage, hard enough to be clutching it above his head with tears in his eyes as Gintoki decides on a classic solar plexus finisher. (He does feel a little guilty about it afterwards.)

Ugh. Not satisfying at all. He really had his heart set on that fist fight with some yakuza. It’s bad form to mope when he’s the dashing hero of this scenario, though.

The victim’s totally buried beneath unconscious bodies, and having a tough time getting out from under them. They might be some kind of delicate, moneyed little bakufu heir, eager to bestow material thanks for a timely rescue. Gintoki benevolently comes to their aid once more.

“Hey, you good down there?” he asks, grabbing the shoulder of one of the unlucky scrubs slumped in the pile and yanking it backwards. He and his pals start sliding to the dirty ground, with the help of the struggling bottom piece of the sandwich. “I normally take cash for services rendered, but a check or a direct deposit is also--”

\-- huh?

A guy about his own age, about his own build, in that stuffy uniform, swaying like he’s going to pass out just from sitting up-

No, no no no, it _can’t_ be, for a billion different reasons, but- it’s dark and crowded, but, isn’t that thing his bangs are doing kinda like-?

Hijikata spits some blood out of his mouth and shakes his head like a dog after a bath. A double-take in progress immediately comes over his face, and he whips his head up to frown at Gintoki with a bewildered look so priceless it would be at home in the shogun’s treasury.

Gintoki opens his mouth to say something _devastatingly_ funny.

Hijikata pales ten shades, groans urgently, then turns around to be loudly and violently sick on his hands and knees.

“... Yeah, good evening to you too, Hijikata-kun.”

Well it’s not the worst way Gintoki has ever been told “hello”. He sighs at the small disappointment of being denied a joke for the record books, but he’ll get over it.

Still, _wow_ it sounds like a bad time over there. Almost makes him glad he never got properly drunk tonight. Not quite, but almost.

This is obviously the regretful tantrum of a human body composed 80% of booze rather than water- you hear yourself puke in enough different ways enough times, and the distinct sounds end up more familiar than a mixtape of your favourite songs. It never fully occurs to Gintoki to feel annoyed though, that the “work” that had taken precedence over his own invaluable company tonight had just been getting pissed to the brink of death. This guy of all people wouldn’t be caught dead _or_ alive drinking in uniform for the hell of it. He’s still wearing that shitty cravat for crying out loud.

… No, considering the political leanings of his five new friends taking a nap just over yonder, Gintoki has a pretty good hunch about the orchestrator of this whole kerfuffle. He’ll probably find out just what happened soon enough anyways.

Meanwhile, the sounds of retching seem to have finally given way to a few lingering coughs, some spitting, and a sniffle or two. He doesn’t really want to witness the carnage himself, but leaning over to bestow a quick tap on the back is good enough to gauge the situation and still spare his delicate senses.

“Oh, you finished?” he asks when Hijikata looks over his shoulder in a rather impressively quick response, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Shit, he’s got tears running down his face too. What a mess.

Instead of giving a simple yes or no, the unbelievable bastard braces his forearm on the wall and turns his body to it like he means to stand up and walk on away, uttering a _demand_ of all things.

“Phone,” he slurs, “you got one? Have to- _gghg--_ ” Close one there, but no more vomit. “-- wanted. These guys. Gotta call a patrol.”

Wanted, huh? Gintoki doesn’t doubt it, but the lot of them are total amateurs- just a bunch of self-righteous punks who found themselves a few swords and twice as many bad ideas. It’d normally be unthinkable for chumps of this caliber to pose any kind of nuisance to Mr. Oni Vice Chief in a fight, but crouching down to eye level Gintoki can make out a pretty nastily split lip on that good looking face of his.

He pokes it.

“ _Ow,_ what the fuck!!” Hijikata swats him away with laughably poor reflex and balance.

“Nah, it’s nothing. But, uh, yeah, sure, I can lend you a phone,” Gintoki fibs- he doesn’t have a cell, or a mobile, or whatever the slang is. “I just wanna ask a quick little question first.”

"What.”

He makes a peace sign. “How many fingers?”

Hijikata squints, and truly earnestly stares at the hand two feet in front of his eyes for a full silent minute.

“... Doesn’t matter,” he finally insists.

Ooohh boy.

“Well, you’re right about that,” Gintoki concedes, not reaching over to muss Hijikata’s hair a bit even though he really _really_ wants to all of a sudden. He’ll be mad in a few seconds anyways. “‘Cause that was a lie just now, sorry. I don’t actually have one.”

Hijikata throws a right hook at him that is so downright adorable Gintoki can’t bring himself to avoid it. It hits his shoulder like a bag of marshmallows.

“If you’re not gonna help just leave,” Hijikata grouses at him, blessedly not seeming to notice the epic battle he is waging with himself to keep from laughing out loud.

“Oh come on, I said sorry.” It is frankly amazing of him, but his voice only cracks a tiny bit. He subtly clears his throat. “Right, and to show my remorse, I’m gonna offer to take you to a payphone instead. Aren’t I being nice? I’m helping, I’m being _very_ helpful.”

Hijikata scoffs at him, and like it’s the single most obvious thing in the universe just says, “Can’t.”

Hm. That’s irritating.

“Ohhh? Underestimate my strength at your own peril, you jerk. If you wanna travel princess-style then just keep on running your mouth.”

That would be embarrassing for him too, though, so he won’t actually do it.

“Not _you,_ damn it,” Hijikata sighs, sliding his butt to the ground like he means to just sit there all night. “ _I_ can’t.”

… Wait a second. He hasn’t made it to his feet yet after all this time, but Gintoki just assumed that was because of the potential alcohol poisoning. Could he actually have been roughed up by those little pricks way worse than he’s letting on?

Gintoki’s instincts for this sort of thing are still top notch, he thinks, scratch that, he knows they are- they led him here in the first place. If anyone’s bleeding it’s not heavily enough for there to be a smell, but human limbs are capable by themselves of doing some serious damage, and they sure were flying around before he stepped in.

 _Shit._ Did those assholes break something?

“Shit,” Hijikata idly curses. Gintoki almost jumps at the weird mirror between their thinking. That’s gross, what the hell.

Hijikata glances down at himself, then leans the back of his head against the wall with another sigh. Looking… defeated, maybe, but not really in any kind of pain at all. His body language is all limp and relaxed.

… Ok, no, wait. For real this time. Wait a damn second.

“Ummmm, Hijikata-kun?”

His head lolls over in Gintoki’s direction again.

“By any chance, when you say that you “can’t” get up and go to a payphone, do you mean, potentially, possibly, that you can’t go in your uniform? Being all drunk and silly?”

He has the utter balls to raise an eyebrow at this. “Yeah, obviously.”

Gintoki buries his face in his hands.

Aaaaah! _Aaaaaaaahhhh!!_

Playing with people's’ hearts like that!! Is it fun, you shithead?!

He heaves a long, tortured sigh of his own, and gets down to solving the entire pointless non-problem in one shot.

“I hate to be the voice of reason here, I really, _really_ do, but can’t you just strip down a bit? There are just regular old clothes under all that fancy crap, right?”

Hijikata’s eyebrows come together slightly. Like a visual representation of all the circuits in his brain connecting, or something.

“Guess so,” he admits, without any trace of embarrassment or shame whatsoever.

… And starts taking off one of his shoes.

Gintoki reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder before he can get any further.

“Sorry. That was my bad. I’ll own that one.”

Hijikata hiccups at him, looking more or less undisturbed.

Close as they are now, Gintoki can feel the heat just blasting from his face like rocket fuel. Even after puking that much, the guy is still catastrophically wasted. How resilient, jeez. If they could just split Hijikata’s blood alcohol level between the two of them, then they could go through with the original plan for the evening and have a dandy old time of it.

Unfortunately, science hasn’t advanced to that point yet, so Gintoki will just have to keep on being a big stinking hero for the time being.

“Look, you just... focus on not being sick for a little while, ok? Lean forward a bit.”

He absolutely wasn’t expecting Hijikata to cooperate right off the bat, let alone without a word of complaint, or any word at all. Readily, though, he lets Gintoki start pulling off his jacket like it doesn’t even need consideration.

Looking at the thing up close now, its lower sleeves are both caked in dirt. He’s probably got bruises all up his forearms to match, considering the general lack of abuse his face and head demonstrate apart from that splendid fat lip.

… He really is lucky those shitheads decided to play with their food for so long, sheesh. Anybody with a lick of sense would have just killed him outright, given such a huge opportunity.

Gintoki looks at the jacket for a second longer, at its highly recognizable embellishments, and turns the whole thing inside out before folding it over his arm. Might as well go all the way with it, if he’s already taking these precautions in the first place.

He goes for the scarf next, because looking at it always makes his neck itch. What’s even the point of wearing it? It’s just a big handkerchief.

Hijikata’s got his eyes shut like he’s ready to take a nap or something. Is it really ok to be so at ease in this situation? Hello?

Gintoki’s gaze is drawn again to the big messy bruising gash on the side of Hijikata’s mouth where he probably got kicked. He uses the scarf balled up in his hand to dab away some of the crusty half-dried blood there.

On more prolonged contact with the spot, Hijikata’s face wrinkles a bit and he makes a wordless grumbly kind of noise in displeasure. Still doesn’t open his eyes, though.

“Yeah yeah, sorry,” Gintoki absently says, starting on those tricky little vest clasps. “You just keep still and let Gin-san finish servicing you, ‘kay?”

This is not remotely the way Gintoki had wanted to take Hijikata out of his clothes tonight, so he’ll find his own fun in it where he can, damn it.

“Don’t say that kinda shit in a sketchy backstreet, you weird pervert.”

Rats. Busted.

… More like, isn’t that the most eloquent thing by _far_ Hijikata has said since being dug out from underneath the guys who beat the crap out of him? Was he saving the last of his energy and brain cells just to play tsukkomi?

He doesn’t strictly need to, but after doing away with the vest Gintoki pops open a shirt button for the final touch on the “disguise”. It looks more natural this way. Hmm, yeah, surveying his work, it’s pretty nice- kind of a sexy salaryman image. The guy dresses down really well, damn him.

“Okaaaaay, break time’s over now, wakey wakey.”

He waggles an open palm in front of Hijikata’s face, but it doesn’t get a reaction apart from the slight way his bangs are ruffled from the moving air. Which looks cute as hell, _shit,_ but at large it’s a massive inconvenience for him to have actually fallen asleep, on top of legitimately unbelievable. No, Gintoki doesn’t believe it for a second.

“Hiiiiijikaaaaata-kuuuuun,” he whines in the specific way that he knows gets under the guy’s skin like almost nothing else. Ah, there’s another tiny frown. Still in there after all.

Bolstered by his small success Gintoki brings his face much, _much_ closer to Hijikata’s, close enough to stick out his tongue and lick the tip of his nose. He’s kind of tempted to just do that instead, but it would be a little weird so he takes a deep breath in and goes with his initial idea.

From his diaphragm, as obnoxiously as he can manage:

“HIIIIIJI _bbwffp_ -”

\-- barely two syllables in, he’s smacked in the mouth with the force and speed of a Wimbledon serve.

Ah. This must be karmic retribution, for laughing at that sad little punch from before.

“Shut up,” Hijikata mutters groggily, and Gintoki can make out through his watering eyes that he’s pinching his temple like he does when he’s been slaving over paperwork for half a week.

Just how many different types of drunk is he planning to be tonight!?

“ _Ow,_ damn it,” Gintoki answers pointedly, massaging his jaw. His fingertips feel wet. Is that blood? Is he _bleeding?!_

Hijikata stops rubbing his brow, and squints over to where he knocked Gintoki almost headfirst into the wall beside him.

“... That was you?”

“Who else would it be, you lush?!”

He seems genuinely speechless for a second, with his mouth drawn tight and his eyes widening in remorse. He quickly turns away again.

“... Sorry,” he says, with such unfiltered regret in his voice that it makes Gintoki’s heart feel like it’s been slapped in the face too.

… He has never, _never_ seen Hijikata this wrecked before. Or, if he has, he’s been in the same shape or worse and it’s gone from his memory, at least. It was funny for a while, but now it’s the uncomfortable kind of honest he doesn’t know how to deal with and hasn’t really been given proper permission to witness in the first place.

But, well, there’s no point in panicking about it when the things he has to do in this situation are still the same as before. And he’s still got the best poker face in the known universe.

He lets himself look a little put out anyways though, sighing while he stands back up again. That haymaker _did_ smart.

“If you feel bad about it, help me get you on your feet so we can get out of here. Smells like vomit.” Now that it’s been left to percolate in the close, still air of the alley, the puddle of sick somewhere nearby is starting to reek to high heaven.

“Yeah,” Hijikata agrees, presumably on both points. He clumsily starts to gather up his legs under him. “How should-”

“Here, gimme your arm.” Gintoki offers down his hand, the one that isn’t full of clothing.

It’s a slow, arduous process, with a lot of ugly grunting and groaning on both ends of the fulcrum. And then suddenly it’s a very quick tumble backwards towards the wall for Gintoki, when Hijikata’s body swings past “upright” into “pitching headlong into whatever poor kindhearted sap has placed himself in its way”.

Gintoki’s shoulder blades scrape uncomfortably against the building, once, then immediately again when all five foot whatever of drunk vice chief slams into him at full weight and starts sliding down his body.

“ _Ahhhh_ _jeez_ ,” he loudly whines, fully within his rights to, hugging beneath Hijikata’s arms before they end up back at square one again. “I can’t do all the work here! Get it together, will you?”

“‘m _trying_ , you _dick,_ ” comes the muffled rebuke from against his collarbone.

Though it’s only for a moment as Hijikata rights himself with his grip on the wall, the two of them body to body like this, off a dark side street with nobody else around… In a way, it _is_ one of the outcomes Gintoki had been hoping for tonight. He’s not so affected by it that he’d have any, ah, noticeable physical giveaways, but a thrill does run through him at the feeling of being pressed tightly against a wall where no one else can see.

… On second thought, with Hijikata back in a standing posture now and both his hands braced snugly on either side of Gintoki’s head, his face shadowed from proximity, bearing an expectant expression… He’s definitely starting to get affected. He’ll be fully affected in no time if they stay like this any longer. Is that so wrong though? Is he wrong in any way, here?? They wound up in the same place despite _all_ the odds somehow, and it's such a huge fucking shame that they can't make anything of it!! Aaargh!!

Hijikata’s head drops and he utters an alarmingly strained-sounding swallowing noise.

“Whoa whoa whoa, don’t even _think_ about it, do you hear me?! Don’t you dare! Not while we’re standing like this!” Gintoki scrambles under one of his arms as fast as he can and hefts it over his shoulders, sidestepping out of the immediate line of fire.

He can already feel Hijikata’s knees buckling from the sudden shift in his support, but he’s quick enough in catching his waist to avoid any more setbacks. His grip’s a bit awkward with all the clothing slung over his forearm, but as far as Hijikata’s concerned it’s probably a comfy little pillow. How nice for him.

Gintoki’s all sweaty now, and not for the reason he’d been starting to pin his hopes on. Those sad little hopes can’t take much more of a beating tonight, he thinks bitterly to himself. He’ll have to beat _something_ in the bathroom later though.

“Hey, if you’re going to throw up again try not to get any on my shoes, ok? And try not to be too loud. And try to get it over with quickly. And preferably don’t do it at all.” If it doesn’t have anything tantalizing in store for him after all, he’s way past ready to be out of this shitty alleyway.

“Not going to,” Hijikata mutters vindictively. He wobbles forward, and tries to pull the arm around Gintoki’s shoulders with him. “C’mon.”

“Yessir”, Gintoki mumbles back, with no shortage of attitude.


	3. Part 2

It takes five slow, ginger, agonizingly tense minutes to maneuver the jelly-legged Hijikata around all of the unconscious joui cluttering the narrow passage. He can barely lift his knees he’s so drunk, and one foot or both gets caught on some stray body part so many times that Gintoki nearly lets him just take a dive so he can drag him out of there like a ragdoll. He warns as much after the umpteenth time, and they almost come to blows a yard from the mouth of the alley. By then the path is clear though, and they’re able to complete the first leg of the journey with no worse incident than some very foul language.

Gintoki is now well and truly oozing sweat from the awkward exertions of getting through that crappy three legged obstacle course. It’s a chilly night- enough for him to have forgone the undeniable stylishness of his regular asymmetrical look on the way out the door, for a tamer and warmer two sleeved approach- but the gross little sticky trails running down his back are making it feel like early May rather than the ass end of October. The space inside of his clothes feels like it’s full of Sadaharu’s clammy dog breath, and it’s probably on the way to smelling as bad.

He needs a quick break, damn it. The way a guy’s natural stamina declines on the far side of twenty is nothing to sneeze at, damn it!

Hijikata sneezes, explosively, close enough to Gintoki’s face for more than a few drops to land there.

“... Ahh, I’m telling you now, just so you know, when my hands are free, I will be using _your_ clothes to wipe away the snot you just sprayed all over me. I trust that this arrangement is something you find both fair and acceptable, Hijikata-san?”

He might have spent the last of his strength cussing out Gintoki a second ago for threatening to drop him, because he doesn’t say anything in response. He isn’t trying to pull them both forward like earlier, either.

Seems like they both need a break. What a sad pair of healthy and attractive young men they make, goodness.

For all the blood sweat and mucus it’s taken to get this far, they’re still more or less in the middle of the entertainment district where there’s no room for a bench between all the signage. The thought of it alone makes Gintoki feel like he’s aged ten years, but he’s probably going to have to scrape Hijikata off the ground again after he’s caught his breath a bit. Damn it, why is he such a nice person.

He pivots around Hijikata like he’s some kinda surly handsome maypole, to be facing the closed shutter of the store they’ve exited the alley beside.

“Hey, you think you can lean against this building on your own for a minute or two?” If he can’t Gintoki will just pull him up again, but it’s still worth a try anyways.

Hijikata grunts in the affirmative. Or maybe he’s just trying to keep down a second round of puke, it’s pretty hard to tell.

Gintoki can’t see too great from right beside him, but it looks sort of like his complexion has worsened again.

It suddenly all feels familiar, in the wrongest way.

The thick sweat on his back, the not-yet-dead weight pulling on his shoulders and hips and knees, the colour of blood just barely within the corner of his eye, the sharp smell of it- for a second it’s overpowering, painfully clear, like the sound of someone not breathing anymore.

It stays that way for some dizzy seconds, then Gintoki’s brain starts catching back up to itself.

His first instinct is to laugh.

Always at the most pointless little moments, with this shit. Never when it _really_ \- hah. Haha!

Instead of laughing, he takes a long breath out, to the even count of four. He watches the tiny puff of carbon dioxide swirl away, feels himself blink at it, doesn’t compare it to anything, and swallows some spit. His chin’s a bit numb. That could just be the cold though.

He’s not half sure of how or when, but he gets Hijikata over to the shutter, probably does some weird turning and angling to get his back up against it before letting him go. He’s crouching now, looking closely at the small contours and bumps in the dirt road. He looks a little pathetic, probably.

Or maybe he looks totally fine. He might feel totally fine, too. Anyone’s guess.

Gintoki gets an urge that immediately makes his stomach turn for ten different reasons, first among them the knowledge that he _has_ to follow through on it. The guilt and embarrassment come tied for a close second, though. Always such eager rivals, those two. They’re probably fucking.

He stands up again, wetting the pad of his thumb on his tongue, feeling like he wants to flinch at the sensation that comes from briefly touching the point of a tooth by accident.

He slowly, resolutely, rubs away the last traces of blood beneath and beside Hijikata’s bottom lip. The skin seems like it may tear again, so he’s very careful.

It’s warm, alive.

Gintoki realizes he’s been looking Hijikata in the eye the entire time, right as he finishes and starts to lower his hand. A soft, hot breath tickles his knuckles.

Hijikata… doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything at all. Maybe he doesn’t know anything, didn’t see anything. Maybe he won’t remember this happened at all tomorrow morning. Maybe if he does, he’ll pretend he doesn’t.

Gintoki feels a little hot between the eyes, distantly. He can feel his own calm, level heartbeat all the way to his fingertips.

From somewhere inside the bundle of outerwear he didn’t realize he still had draped over his forearm, a distinct, harsh vibration starts to pulse rhythmically…  alongside the muffled, and yet utterly impossible not to recognize, opening bars of a cute and poppy anisong licensed as the opening theme of a certain magical girl franchise.

It plays all the way to the end of the sample clip, then it starts again.

Gintoki looks down towards the ringing cellphone buried unseen in his own possession, dimly shocked. He looks back at Hijikata again. The man has turned an absolutely _delicious_ shade of red, even to his earlobes.

Gintoki feels his whole face contort with a grin he utterly cannot control, and almost instantly Hijikata’s beautifully mortified expression blurs beyond sight as he makes a desperate lunge forwards off his centre of gravity. He starts to stumble and fall right away, oh so predictably, and Gintoki catches him under the arms again. The motion carries right through to a full embrace, all the way around his sturdy back, just kind of naturally. That bundled up phone keeps on buzzing, trapped out of reach now.

Gintoki laughs, so hard his stomach hurts, and in stupefied giddiness keeps his momentum to spin around in almost a full circle with Hijikata in his arms, before doing all these things at once becomes completely unsustainable and he has to let him go to cough for air. Hijikata settles back against the storefront, looking a little green, and a _lot_ embarrassed.

Ahhh for fuck’s sake, Gintoki could just kiss him to death, vomit breath and all.

He wipes a tear or two out of his eyes, trying to stifle some very persistent giggles. It’s an afterthought, but he mentally blows a kiss to Tosshi up in heaven or whatever too. Credit where it’s due, and all.

“ --hee, ahaheheheehee, why’d you ask _me_ for a phone when you had one the whole time, you awful drunk.”

“Shut the fuck up. Shut your mouth. Die,” Hijikata growls down at him, without any real bite at all.

It’s _too_ good, but any more of this and he’ll get angry for real, so that’s where Gintoki buries the whole thing. He’s in such a fantastic mood that he doesn’t even mention the ringtone. It kills him a little bit, but he doesn’t mention the ringtone.

“... Hey.”

“Mm?”

“You answer that,” Hijikata says, with a strange kind of poise out of the blue. “I have to go throw up again.”

Before Gintoki can fully process this or respond to it, Hijikata has pulled himself along the shutter back to the mouth of the alleyway, and started doing exactly what he said he would.

… Always so straightforward, in his own clumsy way.

It had finally stopped ringing for a minute, but the phone is back to looping the first fifteen seconds of the PreCure theme again. Now that he’s (mostly) done laughing at it, it’s getting kind of annoying. Since they’re dirty already anyways, Gintoki just throws all the clothes in the pile on to the ground to root through them quicker, and pretty easily finds his target within an inner pocket turned outer pocket on the jacket he flipped inside out.

Taking a quick look at the caller ID on the display sort of prepares him for it, but the distressed shrieking in his ear immediately after flipping the old model open is still an unpleasant thing to experience.

“Toushi!!! Oh thank god, are you alright?! Where _are_ you right now, we’ve been looking _everywhere!!!_ Are you hurt?! I’m getting in the car _right_ now, just tell me where and--”

“Aahhhh, Hijikata-san can’t come to the phone unfortunately,” Gintoki interrupts, after just about all he can take of having the gorilla holler directly into his ear. His head is ringing, goddamn it. “He’s a little, um, preoccupied at the moment.”

Absolute silence, for what feels like half a minute.

Then, low and threatening:

“ _What have you done to him,_ you son of a bitch. If you’re after a ransom, you’re going to wish you were never born. We’re going to _hunt you down,_ and when we find you--”

Jesus, what??? Of all the misunderstandings--

“Yeah, there’s been a _small_ communication issue here, right. Listen to my silky smooth voice, you big ape. Listen _veeeeeeeeery_ carefully, ok? Are you listening? Surely it’s ringing some bells by now?”

There’s a long, staticky sigh on the other end of the call. He’s got his big mouth way too close to the receiver.

“I don’t recognize your voice over the phone, but with that annoying way of talking this has to be Yorozuya, right?”

At being slighted like this Gintoki gets the petty urge to deny it and _really_ mess with the big rude oaf, but ultimately ending up arrested would be way more annoying than suffering an indignity as relatively minor as this one. Even if it’s still pretty annoying, in the present.

“Yes, yes, the one and only,” he responds with a contained amount of sarcasm, before Kondou goes back to his assumption on his own. “ _Toushi_ is fine, apart from being the worst drunk I’ve ever seen. What did he have tonight, paint thinner?”

Another sigh, longer and more staticky than the first. Seriously, would he just move the phone back half a foot.

“Probably half the cellar of the favoured ryoukan of some _very_ influential men, is what. I couldn’t stop them at all, damn it…!”

The distant sound of something being stricken in impotent frustration, maybe the hood of a car.

Aaaah, that’s what it was after all, Gintoki thinks without much surprise while Hijikata continues being sick a few feet away. Playing toadie to some bored old government fucks has a pretty unique set of risks, doesn’t it.

Now that he has a notion of the _quality_ of the stuff traveling backwards up Hijikata’s throat, though, he’s more than a little jealous. He’s probably never thrown up something half as expensive in his entire life. He’s starting to plan what he should do to get invited to the next big suckup party as a plus one.

“Well, I figured it was something like that. But how’d he end up all the way over here? Ain’t any ryoukan in my neighbourhood that I’m aware of.”

“In your--? You’re in _Kabukicho?!”_

Gintoki has to finally just hold the phone away from his head.

“ _Yeah,_ that’s where I live, the last time I checked!!”

All the yelling is getting contagious. If anyone files a noise complaint he’s forwarding it _right_ to the barracks.

Oh. Speaking of those barracks, and the people who live in them wasting his tax money-

“Right, I forgot cause they were so weak, but there’s a handful of wanted joui punks passed out in the alley beside that old shop that sells dried fish and kelp n’ junk over here. They must have some kind of bounty, huh? And since I’m the one who whooped them on _top_ of saving your precious vice chief, that counts for a little extra, don’t you think?”

“Toushi had to be saved by _you?_ I never should have let Sougo take care of him if he’s that bad off... He’s not hurt, is he?”

Just gonna completely ignore all that stuff about his reward, huh. Gintoki should have known better.

Besides that, there is so much to take issue with that it’s immediately apparent as not remotely worth the effort. Well, except for one pretty significant thing.

“You shouldn’t have left him with that Soujirou-kun at all if you wanted him back in one piece, you fricking doofus. The kid’s got his number already when he’s lucid.”

“It’s “Sougo”.”

He knows, but it’s fun getting the exact same response every single time. This guy is so easy it hurts.

“... Honestly, it was his doing that Toushi got put in the hot seat tonight.”

Wow... Why is Gintoki the complete opposite of surprised.

“He’s always so miserable at these official banquets, so I thought in his own messed up way Sougo was trying to let him have some fun for once, you know? Even when we’re all off the clock, he never really loosens up around the guys at all.”

Yeah, “loose” is the last word he’d ever think to use for Hijikata alright. He feels a nice big swell of immature pride, though, at just how often he’s seen that harsh and rigid Oni Vice Chief with his guard down lately. It’s half the fun of their rotten little bond, hassling him into acting like a _person._ He’s starting to really wish he could have been there to see whatever the hell actually happened at this big fancy dinner.

“So, I’m guessing it was Sousuke-kun who eventually “helped” him off to the “bathroom”, right? And then he just teleported an hour away to get kicked by a bunch of NPCs on his own.”

“It’s “Sougo”!! And I know what you’re thinking, ok!! A ton of our guys were new to this sort of high pressure social event tonight, and as soon as Toushi got snapped up by those boozy old men I had my hands full trying to prevent a total disaster!! When they disappeared, I thought Zaki got called to take him back home and Sougo was just skipping again!!! Can you really blame me for that?!”

Even with the phone held almost an arm’s length away from his head, Gintoki can tell the guy’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown over the night he’s been through. It must be tough, raising a few dozen rowdy adult hooligans. He’s got a hard enough time of it himself with only two smaller ones, and they don’t drink or plot to murder each other.

“Hey, uh...  there there, don’t cry, ok?” It’s probably too late for that, but he says it anyways to be nice. “He’s a little bruised and the hangover will probably make him wish he _had_ gotten killed, but you don’t need to go find a new number two yet. If you’re looking for someone to go to your fancy parties and get inappropriately drunk for a modest fee, though, I happen to be between jobs at the moment.”

“... I see.” He sounds relieved. And dead exhausted. “You’re beside the dried fish place, right Yorozuya? I think I know the general area, there’s a little old smoke shop Toushi likes around there.” Ooohhh, is there now? Sounds to Gintoki like an excuse to wander around his neck of the woods hoping to run into him. How cute, Toushi. You should be more honest, Toushi.

“Stay put there for a while, I’m coming over right away with another car for those arrests.”

Ignoring the part about money again, is he. It was worth a few tries at least. Whatever.

“You’re way out in the fringes right now, aren’t you? I’m not waiting out here in the cold for you to drive through the entire city while my balls freeze and fall off. You really wanna be responsible for robbing Japan of a national treasure like that?”

Kondou counters him without a beat, “I think I’d probably get a medal.” Hmph. No need to get cheeky. “Bah, you’re right about the time it’ll take to get over there, though… Sorry, but if you’re already there could you just put him up for the night? I’ll pay you something out of my own pocket for the trouble. Make sure he doesn’t try coming in to work tomorrow, ok? He’s so stubborn about taking a break when he actually needs one.”

Gintoki was already going to do all that without being asked to, but the gorilla doesn’t particularly need to know about it. “Throw in a chocolate parfait next time I see your ugly mug, and you’ve got a deal.”

“Thanks, Yorozuya.” The call ends.

Gintoki sighs at the unexpected tiredness he feels after that conversation. He’s got an even more unexpected spot of pity for the big lug- can’t imagine what it would be like if Kagura was out for Shinpachi’s life, to make a really weird comparison. Yeah, it’s _really_ weird, and doesn’t actually work. If Kagura wanted Shinpachi to be dead, he would be dead and buried already.

He snaps the flip phone shut. It feels weirdly satisfying. He can sort of see the appeal of owning these things.

There’s been no more throwing up in the background for some time now, so it’s probably safe to take a look. When he turns around, Hijikata is sitting against the closed storefront instead of standing, visibly shaking like a leaf with a funny unfocused look on his face.

He just sat there in the cold waiting for him to finish talking!? Hachiko?! Did he decide to become Hachiko?!?!

“Hey, you don’t have pneumonia all of a sudden, right?” Gintoki calls over, walking back to him sort of quick to jostle his shoulder. “That’s not contagious, is it?”

Hijikata sniffles loudly, but he’s still got a shiny trail of snot down to his upper lip. Eew. “Shud ub,” he mutters, with the articulative skill of someone who’s got fingers shoved all the way up his nose. It’s hilarious, and really adorable.

“Pff, gotcha, shudding ub,” Gintoki grins. He gathers up all the clothing he left on the ground and just makes a big wrinkled dirt-smeared ball out of it. He tucks Hijikata’s phone into the middle like it’s the pickled plum in an onigiri. He’s kind of hungry.

It’s hard on his knees, but he doesn’t want to end up flat on his back in the middle of the road with Hijikata sprawled on top of him (his taste for exhibitionism isn’t _that_ out of control), so he crouches beside him and pulls him up to his feet from the side this time. Sitting still in this weather has made his arms and legs all stiff, and he barely had control of those in the first place so the whole process takes about twice as long as the first time. It sucks, and it leaves Gintoki wheezing like he just gave birth.

Hijikata is considerate enough to wait for him to start getting his breath back before he asks, nose still clogged and runny, “Thad was Gondou-san, righd?”

“Hah? Oh, the phone. Yeah, he’s on the way to take care of your new friends, so don’t worry about that anymore. You’re not in uniform, remember?”

Gintoki doubts he could forget, the way he can feel him shivering through their body contact. Maybe he should’ve left all his shirt buttons done up.

He thinks about the way he’ll be sweating from the effort of getting them both back to his place, weighs it against Hijikata trembling like a tiny little abandoned puppy in the rain, and decides to do something really, _really_ embarrassing. There’s hardly anyone out anymore, so it should be fine. Kagura is probably asleep already, so… it _should_ be fine.

Gintoki steps back against the shutter, makes sure Hijikata’s got enough purchase on it to stay upright, and backs away a bit more to have room to start taking off his kimono.

“If you complain about this, I am gonna kick your ass later, got it? I’m not kidding.”

Hijikata just looks confused at the fact that he’s undressing, bless his drunken heart.

… But he does catch up on what’s happening, unavoidably, when Gintoki grumbles for him to stick out his arm and beckons with the warm and cozy garment he just shrugged out of.

His mouth falls open, his face explodes into a dark flaming red, and he starts to sputter like a dying fish. The worst part of it all is that Gintoki can’t laugh at any of this, because it is an exact mirror of how he feels about what he’s doing too.

“You want it or not!!” he tries to bark in a way that’s gruff and manly and cool, but just ends up kind of quietly shrieking while he feels his own face get hotter and hotter and hotter.

Hijikata keeps on trying and failing to utter some kind of objection, shivering miserably the whole while. He finally hides the top half of his face in the palm of his hand, in that ultra rare, _shy_ way Gintoki would love to appreciate for how endearing it is, if not for the matching humiliation he feels at having created this situation in the first place. Hijikata slides his sword and scabbard out of his belt, practiced enough to do it fluidly even as drop dead trashed as he still is. He sets it down against the shutter. It falls to the ground with a loud clatter, immediately.

With a hoarse, strained kind of whimper that makes it sound like it physically pains him to do so, he holds out his hand.

Gintoki considers bashing his own head against a wall hard enough to pass out and avoid the consequences of his actions.

Instead, he starts… urgh. He starts dressing, his, his fucking boyfriend or whatever, in his own favourite piece of clothing, to parade around the neighbourhood more obnoxiously than if he just decided to scream “ _Hey look!!! We’re an item, I’m dating this asshole, we have_ **_really_ ** _good sex!!!_ ” the entire way back home.

That would still be less embarrassing, somehow.

Ahhhh there it is, isn’t it? Fuck. He went and thought it, clear as day, that awful awful little word. “Boyfriend”. Like he’s some sweaty middle schooler with half a nut dropped. He could just gag and add his own pile of puke to the neighbourhood.

Even then it’s still the least disgusting option, for something to call this… whatever. Fling? Those tend to be shorter than a year and some pocket change. Enough pocket change to buy a full set of hamburger and french fries with a small fountain drink.

“Sex friends” might have been appropriate once, minus the “friends” bit. But here they are, pointedly not having sex while they just waste time in the same place, on not remotely the first occasion. Being all cutesy cutesy and sharing clothes in public. Ugh!! Even it it’s just for convenience’s sake, _really,_ ugh!!!

Gintoki remembers the word “lovers” and legitimately does gag, into the crook of his elbow briefly while he hastily fusses his obi into something functional around Hijikata’s waist. He never does more than half ass it when he puts it on himself with his sword belt to keep it in place, and honestly can’t remember how to make any kind of presentable knot.

In order to do this, he’s had to turn Hijikata by the shoulders so he faces away. The sight of him from behind, hands on a wall, ears and neck still visibly flushed from cold and alcohol and embarrassment, body jerking slightly then swaying at the tightening of the sloppy bow Gintoki has been fumbling over- all this compounded by his own signature white and blue wrapped around him-

In a dopey way, like someone just clobbered him over the head with a brick and he’s only now realizing he’s on his ass with stars in his eyes, Gintoki feels himself develop some narcissistic kind of fetish that he is not gonna even begin to try dissecting yet.

He’s more or less done now and doesn’t really need to keep looking at Hijikata. But he’s a grown man and has no obligation to explain his actions to anybody, including himself, so he looks for a bit.

Without even seeing the guy’s face Gintoki can tell he looks better in this getup than he does himself. His dark, infuriatingly enviable soft and smooth hair makes it look almost freaking elegant worn in the “proper” way. What an asshole. Handsome fucking prick. Just go be a model for some tobacco company already.

Thinking he’s made himself annoyed enough to avoid any more flustered vocal acrobatics, Gintoki gives Hijikata a brusque pat on the shoulder (much higher up than his eyes keep wandering) and tries, he _tries_ damn it, to quickly get them back on the road again before they both die of embarrassment.

Instead, he just. Well,

“N, no complaints, alright? It looks ok on you, but not better than me. Have fun cosplaying for a bit.”

On all points, in chronological order:

  1. Of goddamn _course_ he has complaints! This is humiliating!
  2. Liar!! You fucking liar, Sakata Gintoki!!! Shinpachi and Kagura should be ashamed of you!!!
  3. Don’t even bother with this one.



Uwaaaaah, he could cry. What is he doing. What the hell is he doing. If anybody saw this, would they be able to tell him what he’s doing? After they stopped laughing?

Gintoki crouches to pick up Muramasha and wiggle it in beside good old Lake Toya at his hip. He feels he’s surpassed the sensation of shame, suddenly. Nirvana can’t be much further off- he’ll be named Bodhisattva of hubris and shortsightedness any day now.

Whatever. Screw it all. He really could carry Hijikata all the way back bridal style and not give a damn anymore. He’s still not going to, but... he could.

Hijikata has steadily been getting quieter and quieter for a long while, and Gintoki doesn't know if he should be relieved or disturbed. He babbled so much objectionable nonsense just now that it seems more likely that Hijikata legitimately has contracted hypothermia than that he just doesn’t have any kind of response to it. Ordinarily he’d have chased Gintoki all the way up the street and back with his sword drawn for so many consecutive insults to his dignity, intentional or not, but at the moment he’s just sort of silently beginning to droop forward off the wall looking like a flower closing up its petals at dusk.

???? Like a-?

 _Gross_ , what the fuck??

Gintoki has been on the couch pretending not to listen to one thousand episodes too many of Kagura’s trashy period dramas, _disgusting._

Well, moving on, it’s probably, uh, that. It sounds like Hijikata had enough alcohol to put an elephant under, and he already did fall asleep for a minute earlier.

… Come to think of it, the common denominator in both these situations is that Gintoki was messing around with Hijikata’s clothes.

What the… Being manhandled by THE famously seductive and alluring Sakata Gintoki should make him _excited,_ not send him off to dreamland!! What is wrong with him!!

That being said, having to deal with him drunk _and_ randy would have made this entire thing ten times as much of a monumental pain in the ass, so… Gintoki can forgive it. _This_ time. But he’s on thin fucking ice.

Hijikata really will be on thin ice soon, the layer of it forming on the ground, if he slumps forward any further. He’s already out like a light again, isn’t he. Grumbling halfheartedly to nobody but himself at this point, Gintoki turns and catches him piggyback. Suddenly remembering the fact that his house is a second floor apartment, he supposes he would’ve had to do this sooner or later anyways.

It just takes a few short squat-hops to get the arms over his shoulders settled in a position approaching comfortable, and then finally, _finally,_ Gintoki starts walking them back home. He’s jealous of Hijikata again, getting to be unconscious for the entire trip. Getting to be ferried on the strong and sexy back of such a fine gentleman as himself!

With nobody out in the road anymore and therefore no appearances to be terribly self conscious about while he trudges along, Gintoki feels some things starting to pull at him again with their delicate clammy little fingers. It still hasn’t totally subsided after all, that ticklish-nauseous sensation of deja-vu that comes from having another body trusting on his with all its weight to get them somewhere in one piece.

He really does need to be drunk for this, he thinks. When he’s leaning right back on someone, he can make them share the load too. It’s sneaky, cowardly and unfair of him, but everyone already knows he’s like that. It’s something he can comfortably hide in plain sight. When he’s loud and warm-faced and dizzy, it’s easier to feel that other person stumbling forward in step with him and remember that it’s _different_ now. It’s easier like that to let himself be carried too.

Gintoki has given a lot of piggyback rides since he settled into Edo. Each heavier and more terrifying than the last, but like he’s always done, he’s just done it, because he has to. One foot in front of the other, arms and spine aching, counting his own breaths in fours. So that’s what he’ll do again. It’s not easy or hard. He just does it.

Just counting, counting and timing his steps slowly along, he can trick himself into not thinking so much. It starts to feel like there’s a little more room in his head. Gintoki is used to this, as much as he hates it. Maybe that’s part of _why_ he hates it. There’s not much point in examining that, though.

He examines the way the toes of his boots crease instead. It’s pretty unremarkable, but there’s something small and vaguely comfort-like in that. He feels like he could laugh at himself again, but not quite so derisively. It’s just silly, objectively, this sort of thing. Gintoki has been told by many that he’s a silly man, so he supposes that’s alright.

He passes a vending machine, eyes the illuminated panels advertising drinks that are both cool _and_ refreshing, and considers his throat burning from both the frigid air and the strain his passenger is putting on his cardiovascular system. But he just keeps on walking. He has some strawberry milk in the fridge at home, unless Kagura’s been living dangerously again.

It’s an afterthought coming to him _far_ too late, but the way that gorilla was so quick to hand over his precious Toushi after being worried _so_ sick about him makes Gintoki feel kind of… bothered. Certainly not on behalf of Hijikata- _he_ screwed up big time. No, it’s more like- Kondou, he wouldn’t have asked Gintoki for his couch in this situation if he wasn’t absolutely sure he’d get a “yes” in the first place. The fact that he was so positive about the outcome that he could make the request so easily, without a second thought… That’s what has Gintoki so. _Bothered._

He has a reputation with that whole lot, damn it, one he’s carefully cultivated. A reputation as a stingy cantankerous miscreant, intent on squeezing every last bit of his own misused tax money right back out of them, because that’s what he _is._ How did that overgrown monkey get it in his thick head that he’s generous enough to just put himself out on a whim for any one of his lackeys?

… No, not just… not just any one of them, huh. That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it.

Ew. Ick.

Well, ok, alright, they haven’t exactly been _subtle_ lately, at least not after the fucking debacle that one morning with the bedding closet and all of Yorozuya Gin-chan’s employees in the exact wrong place at the exact wrong time. But it’s not like they’ve been skipping around town together holding hands, either!!

… Though they might as well be doing that, at this very moment.

Oh, who is he even trying to kid anymore. Kagura and Shinpachi know, Gran and Catherine and Tama know, Otae is probably the first person the brats ran to complaining about him keeping it from them, so her whole damn cabaret club knows too, and Kondou is there every second he’s not at work so that’s how _he_ knows.

They’ve all shown… a shocking amount of decorum about it. And that’s what makes Gintoki feel more awkward than _anything._ That’s what makes him feel like _he_ ’s the bad guy, for not telling every single person in his life right away that he had a sloppy horrible drunken kiss one night, inside an izakaya, right in front of the cook, with this stuck-up pain in the ass he just _couldn’t_ get rid of. Or that they fucked a week later, or that they kept on meeting up to fuck after that, and that it turned into sort of an irregular routine to meet up and fuck, and then that turned into meeting up sometimes to _not_ fuck and just sort of hang out, over the course of a pretty long period of time.

Why would they even care about that? Who _cares?_

… He does. He cares, and it sucks.

This sucks.

He wants to turn into a cheeseburger.

He wants to _eat_ a cheeseburger. He’s damn hungry. All he had was some edamame and one beer, way back before he ruined his own night with his chronic kindheartedness, and all the heavy lifting he’s done since then has only added to the need for some good old caloric intake.

There’s been some new-ish ramen thing setting up around here lately, Gintoki remembers, developing more and more of an appetite for salt and fat the longer he considers their merits. When he wakes up to take a leak at 1am he can always smell the broth from his bedroom window, and he’s been meaning to give the place a try for about as long as it’s been frequenting his turf during the night. Taunting him. Tempting him.

The time feels ripe for him to give that shopkeep a piece of his mind, and his money. Hijikata can continue his nap with his face on a wooden bartop for a bit- his silver chariot has a sudden pressing need to stop and refuel.

Sure enough, before long, that inviting glow somehow only an izakaya on a weekend night can produce is radiating on the horizon like a gentle guiding star. As Gintoki speeds his pace to reach it, he can make out a single figure seated at the bench clothed in something dark. He was hoping to dine alone in the difficult to explain circumstances of having an unconscious adult man for carry-on luggage, but it at least looks like there’s enough room left for him and his attache. If that other patron has a problem they can just quickly finish their noodles standing up and leave.

The closer Gintoki gets, the louder his stomach grumbles in anticipation.

The face of that lone diner, obscured at a distance by the flags hung from the roof, moves into clarity the very instant Gintoki recognizes what he’s wearing.

He loses his appetite instantly.

With his freakishly honed instinct to do everything as if on cue, the Okita brat turns his neck to look Gintoki’s way where he’s stopped dead in his tracks from utter dismay.

“Oh, hey boss,” he says with as bored-looking an expression as ever, mouth full of noodles. “And Hijikata-san too, wow.” He slurps up his food noisily, maintaining perfect eye contact. “You two look good together.”

At this moment, Gintoki wants to do nothing more than turn around and walk back the way he came without so much as a single word. If he were not carrying an entire human being on his back, he would do that and take the _absurdly_ long way around, just to avoid giving this little snake any satisfaction.

When pitted against one another though, ultimately… Laziness vs. Pride is a fixed match. His knees hurt, his back hurts, and he still has to climb an entire flight of stairs. Okita-kun can have this one. Gintoki will keep it _firmly_ in mind for the next time he sees an opportunity for a Shinsengumi-funded restaurant meal. He’s going to be researching menus in his spare time. There will be a reckoning.

At present, Gintoki sighs deeply, and fixes his line of sight straight ahead. He starts to walk smoothly past the source of _all_ his night’s biggest most violent hiccups, unflinching.

“Hi Okita-kun,” he says in a monotone, continuing to walk. “Bye, Okita-kun. Don’t choke on a piece of corn and die.”

Before Gintoki has passed the far end of his bench, Okita has his cellphone whipped out with a video already loaded on the display, paused to focus on a rather familiar face.

“How mean,” he replies without an ounce of remorse in his entire being. “I even brought you a present.”

Gintoki couldn’t help but follow the phone with his eyes as soon as it appeared, because without even seeing the screen he _knows_ what that video is, and he is _dying_ to watch it, he has been ever since he intuited what exactly happened to land Hijikata in the dilemma he found him in back in that alleyway. He knows Okita knows it too.

But something here doesn’t add up, and faced with the sick puppetmaster of the gauntlet he’s been running ever since he noticed some rando wearing a blade, Gintoki just can’t resist a confrontation.

“Bullshit,” he accuses. “You had no clue I’d even be out tonight, let alone on the way back from cleaning up another one of your messes.”

If he’s already gone this far, he might as well be properly pissed off about it, Gintoki thinks. No point in pulling any punches at this point.

Okita has put his phone back in his pocket and is just sipping his ramen, cool as a cucumber. Gintoki knows he’s being baited, but finds that he doesn’t really care.

“I already knew you bunch are as crooked as it gets, but paying off some of the thugs it’s your job to hunt down to begin with, just to play along with your private little revenge fetish- that’s twisted even for you, _Sougoro-kun._ ”

Sluuuuuurrrrrrrp.

It’s not Gintoki’s imagination- there was a definite annoyed tinge to that egregious violation of table manners. He’s on a roll, so he keeps his momentum.

“Yeah, this honest and law-abiding citizen here is shocked to tears, truly. Who’s to keep us proper folk safe at night, when the lawmen are out bribing terrorists on the weekend? Even as a fellow sadist, I’m appalled. What would dear old Kondou-san think of his cute little star pupil falling to such depths. How tragic.”

Gintoki can’t see the cook’s expression from where he’s standing, but he has a feeling he looks _real_ uncomfortable. Okita sets down his bowl with a sharp sound. The stage seems perfectly primed for a brawl.

Yeah, come on, bring it then!!

-ah.

Ah shit, wait, his hands are full, he’s still carrying Hijikata piggyback, shit- wait-

“I think you’ve misunderstood something, boss,” Okita says calmly, not standing up to throw a punch or draw his sword or anything. He’s still got the same old cheeky deadpan look on his face. How annoying.

“I was just driving Hijikata-san down to the river to throw him in when I spotted those guys. They’re not related at all.”

…

… Scary.

That’s scary, Okita-kun.

“Well, I couldn’t tail them in the car around here, so I had to park it somewhere inconspicuous, and I didn’t want Hijikata-san puking in the front seat so I locked him out.”

What a liar. He saw a new opportunity and ditched Hijikata-san in the crosshairs at his earliest convenience, that’s what happened.

“It took a long time to do all that stuff though, so the guys were pretty much long gone. And I spent that whole shitty banquet setting up blackmail material and didn’t really get to eat anything, so I got hungry and came here.”

He gives Gintoki one of those disarmingly wide-eyed, disgustingly innocent-looking slow blinks of his, like a cat. “That’s _really_ all that happened, boss. I was gonna go back for him when I finished eating, but it looks like you found him first and spared me the trouble. Thanks. You’re a real life-saver.”

Okita goes back to eating his ramen with gusto. Gintoki is… legitimately speechless.

This kid is a demon.

He… he kind of finds himself in awe, of the brat’s natural skill at telling TOTAL bald-faced lie after lie. He feels a renewed sort of _respect_ for it, damn him.

The wind’s gone right from his sails now. Who cares anymore. He’s gonna go home and sleep.

“Yeah. No problem,” Gintoki responds thinly. He shifts the weight on his back around to get comfortable again for the rest of his trek. “Copy that video on to an SD chip and gimme it later. My hands are full, as you can see.”

“They sure are,” Okita agrees with a knowing smirk around the rim of his bowl.

… Ugh. He really wants to turn around and leave already, but there’s something Gintoki just has to know.

“If you _really_ want to blackmail the guy, why haven’t you just gone to the press already with a scoop about he and I… you know.” He feels like a twelve year old for not being able to finish the thought any better than that, but he’ll give himself a break. It’s been a _long_ night.

Whether Okita is just pretending to ponder it or actually does need a second for consideration, Gintoki does not know, neither does he care. But after a hem and a haw, he says with his mouth full again, “I definitely thought about it, but Hijikata-san would freak out and break up with you in thirty seconds if that happened.”

Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, you little shit.

“And then I’d lose a whole arsenal of stuff to embarrass him with. You should see it, boss. He goes red as a tomato. It’s awesome.”

… It _is_ pretty awesome.

“Also, you seem pretty happy n’ stuff. Wouldn’t want to ruin something good for my dear important friend, or whatever, who doesn’t have much else going on in his sad boring life.”

“Yeah, gotcha,” Gintoki says over his shoulder, already walking away. “Really, please _do_ be careful you don’t choke on a fish cake and die, Sousaburou-kun.”

“It’s “Sougo”.”

Ha. Finally got him.

The way things have been going, Gintoki is fully expecting at least ten more Shinsengumi scrubs to intercept him and give their disgusting well wishes before he manages to reach his front door. Thankfully, mercifully, the rest of the walk home is just as quiet and uneventful as he rightfully deserves for all his outstanding hard work. By the time he’s reached the base of those outdoor steps, though, he’s sore and breathless all the same.

Hijikata is still snoozing peacefully without a sound, drooling on to his shoulder. He continues sleeping and salivating the whole fifteen minutes it takes Gintoki to half walk, half crawl up the full flight, hunching over at times to grab the next step with his hands and pull himself up, lumbering onwards with his burden like a possum carrying its young.

He made Kagura and Shinpachi get off him for this part, that time he brought them home from the Harusame pirates’ captivity. It’s strange to think about how long ago that was, even if not an awful lot has changed, if anything. The three of them are all still clinging to each other like they were back then.

… That’s possibly why they were so pissed at him, for hiding his… dalliances.

What was he _supposed_ to do though, seriously!! They both always got so grossed out when he talked about ~Romance~ before!! He was just acting on precedent!!

Kagura should be asleep already by now, but he’s going to have _some_ explaining to do tomorrow morning. She and Shinpachi made him promise not to bring Mayonnaise Bastard over at night when she’s at home. Ergh.

Mom and dad are so strict. It’s _so_ not fair.

Gintoki lets himself fall flat on his stomach as soon as he hauls himself and his forbidden overnight houseguest up on to the landing, exhausted. Hijikata’s weight pummels the breath right out of him when they hit the hardwood together, and finally, fed up, Gintoki thrashes the unconscious goddamn asshole off of him with a harsh roll on to his back. He spends a minute coughing and cursing loudly, feeling every inch of his sweat-soaked body sticking to the cold dusty surface under him.

The only reason he could accept feeling like this, down to the hard flooring and sore throat and absolutely _rank_ fluid-drenched clothing, is if he just finished one truly astonishing round of rough and fast outdoor sex.

Hijikata owes him _big time_ for all this shit.

Gintoki would have expected the guy to be up and berating him by now, if that inelegant dismount bumped him awake. But he’s not, so it obviously didn’t. And that means Gintoki still has more carrying to do. He feels like crying.

Instead he just settles for a few aimless groans up at the porch ceiling, and reluctantly pulls himself upright again. His back feels like it’s going to break in half. Whoever first said “love keeps you young” was an idiot. He’s gonna kick their ass.

“Love”, huh.

Fuck it. He is way too tired to have a crisis right this moment about having thought that word even in passing. It can wait till 3 in the morning some other day.

He leaves Hijikata where he is on the floor for now, and fishes his house key out of the sleeve of the kimono he lent. He’s still sleeping more deeply than Gintoki has probably ever seen him sleep, even after being thrown on to the ground like a sack of bricks. Still breathing evenly and peacefully, looking a good three or four years younger from the notable absence of those oh so fun to prod wrinkles between his eyebrows.

Hell, maybe the Okita kid _did_ do him some kinda favour in the end. He looks like he needed the rest. Though he probably won’t feel too well rested in the morning. What a sucker.

The front door is locked, but as soon as the latch pops Gintoki thinks he hears something suspiciously like a TV going mute. Hmmm.

He peeks his head indoors quietly, to see a dark and empty office.

Hmmm, indeed.

He puts his hunch to the side for the moment, returning to Sleepykata and hauling him up under the arms for the thirty billionth time that night, _god_. He sure had some things to say about the premise of it earlier, but heavy unconscious people don’t get to choose their mode of transportation in the end. He’ll just have to bear with the indignity of a ragdoll carry that he doesn’t know about.

Dragging him over to the front door is easy enough- the threshold is a lot less easy. Gintoki steps out of his boots from habit right away, and they’re immediately cluttering around underfoot annoyingly while he labours to ferry Hijikata over to the landing. He made the mistake of walking them in backwards, and now has no real choice but to make the substantial step up without seeing it. He groans unhappily and loudly at the twisting, stabbing strain it puts on his poor poor old back to make this kind of awkward maneuver while carrying the full weight of an entire person. As soon as he can, he drops Hijikata on the floor again.

Screw this guy. He can just sleep there for the rest of the night with his feet dangling off the step. Gintoki’s had enough of this song and dance. Because _he’s_ the only one doing any singing or dancing, goddamn it.

He chucks the ball of clothes and cellphone he’d carried under his arm the whole way back right on to the ground next to his shoes, with a mildly satisfying _whap._ The whole set will have to be laundered and pressed after the ride it’s been through, and he’s not paying for it. Pushing down on the twin hilts at his hip, Gintoki sits next to the impressively prone form of the sleeping Oni Vice Chief.

Hijikata’s got his arms out in a vaguely starfish-like kind of look, mostly the result of Gintoki’s rough handling. It looks sorta funny- the collar of his ( _borrowed!_ ) clothes has ridden up around his neck, giving him the air of a swaddled toddler put down for a nap. Gintoki can’t help but smile at it.

For all sorts of reasons, he’s basically never awake before Hijikata leaves in the morning after they spend a night together. He falls asleep sweaty and satisfied, and wakes up hugging his pillow or the comforter with a cold dip in the futon next to him. Whenever he crawls out of bed to piss in the early hours, the form he carefully sneaks around is always disciplined and rigid. It’s fun, to see him looking so slovenly.

Gintoki wipes a small track of drool away from Hijikata’s mouth with his thumb. That split lip is already bruising dark purple-red. He wants to kiss it a little bit, but he abstains.

He’s sleeping with his mouth half open, but not snoring. Tch. Gintoki wanted to take a recording. Not for any nefarious purposes, really! It’s just something he would want to have on record, for proof that it happened. He was really hoping there would be snoring.

… Seeing Hijikata so _utterly_ defenseless, he’s overcome with the desire to just kinda… mess with the guy a little. Nothing long-lasting or remotely harmful, just payback for all the literally backbreaking labour Gintoki underwent to deliver him safely from that nasty puke alley.

They’ve passed the stage in their whatever where he would joke about stealing from Hijikata’s wallet, so that’s right out of the question. Tempting, but out of the question. Maybe shave off part of an eyebrow? Not the _whole_ thing, just a bit off the end that would be only slightly noticeable to people who look at his eyebrows a lot.

That’s pretty good. Yeah, that’s a good one.

Gintoki brushes Hijikata’s bangs aside with the tips of his fingers, to get an appraising look at his potential construction zone.

His forehead is still really warm.

… He looks so handsome it’s maddening, with his hair pushed away from his brow like this. It’s a good thing the bastard never bothers trying to tame that natural V his bangs conform to. He’d be an absolute knockout. Enough to rival Gintoki’s own slapdash charm!

With his fingers in Hijikata’s soft hair, looking at the slackened arch of his stern eyebrows, Gintoki barely notices the heavy fur-softened footsteps coming in his direction until they’re most of the way through the office. Sadaharu gives a quiet “boof” towards him, welcoming him home.

“Mn, ’m home,” Gintoki responds absently, twisting some of Hijikata’s bang-hair between his forefinger and thumb. “If you were up, couldn’t you have helped me cart this jerk inside? You know I don’t have cash to spare for a chiropractor. If Gin-san needs a walking cane suddenly, it’ll come out of your food budget, got it?”

“Warf,” Sadaharu says.

“Put that back where you got it,” says the remarkably cross voice of a juvenile girl, from somewhere beside the great big furball.

…

… Well, fuck.

Kagura is in her pajamas, but her hair is generally unmussed and her eyes are bright and awake, like the eyes of someone who was just watching TV in the dark. They don’t have any work lined up, so Gintoki doesn’t even care that she’s up this late, jeez. Why bother hiding it.

… Unless she was watching something naughty. Oh god, that’s what it was, _wasn’t_ it? One of those really wretched late night timeslot animes! No!! He is _not_ ready to have this conversation with this pubescent girl!!!!

It’s not something he has to worry about in this very moment, at least. She’s staring down her nose at him (the two of them, sharing clothes) with just about the most _righteously_ unimpressed look on her face he has ever seen. After the one she had on while she and Shinpachi made them both sit seiza half-dressed out in the office, that fateful morning a few weeks ago when the cat was torn screaming and thrashing out of the bag.

“Put it back,” Kagura repeats imperiously, crossing her arms.

Gintoki claps his hands together before his face in supplication. “Please let me keep it? I’ll feed it, and take it for walks all by myself.”

“Throw it in the garbage, then you jump in too. You can be all lovey dovey together in the trash.”

She looks like she’s about to spit on him, or pick him and Hijikata up and throw them both through the front door, but doesn’t actually seem very angry. Bargaining and bribery could still work at this point.

There’s no point in playing carefully, face to face with the final boss. He looks through his inventory for all those rare, highly effective items he’s been saving for this moment.

“Please? I’ll do all your chores for the next week.” Gintoki is sick to death of eggs on rice for breakfast, so this one isn’t much of an offer as far as he’s concerned, but there’s no need to use a Megalixir before the BGM has even really kicked in properly.

It doesn’t work, anyways.

“No. You _promised._ ”

Gggnnngh. That moment of panicked obedience is never gonna stop haunting him, is it!!

Gintoki bows his head deeply behind his hands. The things he does for this little imp. “Kind and merciful Kagura-sama--”

“You forgot “beautiful”, you ingrate.”

“-- Kind, and merciful, and _astonishingly_ beautiful Kagura-sama.”

She nods. That’s a good sign.

“This, um, situation, is truly not what it looks like, really. For one thing, I’d _never_ let this sadsack outdrink me, you know Gin-san’s got his pride-”

“Don’t care.” Kagura picks her nose at length, and flicks a booger down at him. “Keep bribing me.” Sadaharu has come closer and is curiously snuffling at Hijikata’s head, looking like he’s a minute or so from putting it in his mouth. So it’s gonna be like that, huh.

“On top of doing all your chores for the next _two_ weeks, this pitiful, humble servant to your whims will also give you the full and unopened carton of strawberry milk in the fridge that he has been saving for a special occasion.” Gintoki was really looking forward to drinking that, but it can’t be helped.

Kagura stamps her foot loudly, performatively. She’s super into this weird little stageplay it’s all turned into, suddenly. Jeez. She really does watch too many of those period dramas.

“You dare disgrace yourself further before your lady and master, with such trifling attempts to win my favour?!" On second thought, maybe they've already done a lot for her vocabulary? Wow.

"For every hour I am forced to share my domicile with this _wretch_ ," she sneers down at Hijikata, "you shall buy me one entire layer cake from Patisserie Courgette, and you shall not be permitted a single bite from any of them. You can't even lick the icing out of the box when I'm done. Got it?" The lady has given her terms. Woe betide any who would question them.

Gintoki wants to cry, for his miserable wallet, and his own future deprivation. He had a feeling sweets would be the key to victory here, but that's  _so_ many cakes! And the ones from that shop are  _soooooo_ good!! Kagura-sama, what a tyrant you are!!!

With a sob in his voice, he yields before the Demon King towering victoriously over him. "As milady wishes." He pries Sadaharu's slobbery jowls away from Hijikata's noggin.

Appeased, Kagura has turned around to go drink all of Gintoki's strawberry milk before bed. But she stops after a step or two, like she's just remembered something.

"He's  _not_ sleeping in your room." Though her mood has mostly been resolved, the look she's throwing over her shoulder contains a very real threat.

Gintoki was never going to drag Hijikata all the way there when the couch in the office is so much closer to begin with, but giving lip in this situation is only going to get him in more trouble.

"Okay,  _mom_."

"Don't give me that attitude, young man." She's already at the fridge.

"Sorry, mom." Sighing, Gintoki pulls the swords out of his belt and puts them on the floor so he can comfortably start _finally_ taking his clothes back off Hijikata. His face and hair have got dog drool all over them now and absolutely  _reek,_ but he still hasn't stirred a whit. If not for the quiet breaths coming from his swollen mouth, Gintoki would doubt he was even in there anymore. He's sort of tempted to just let Kagura throw him through the door anyways, just to see if he would wake up.

... He's already out a ton of cash on apology cake, though, and probably couldn't foot the repair bill for doing that. Oh well. Gintoki scoots over to pull one of Hijikata's dangling feet into his hands, and pops his shoe off.

He feels weirdly embarrassed, to be doing this in his own home. It feels kinda... intimate? He's not into feet or anything, but isn't taking someone's shoes off for them in your own house kind of? You know? Isn't it?

Gintoki throws the second shoe on to the floor and stops thinking about that. Ugh... he tied his obi in the back, and doubts he has the energy to try flipping the guy over at this point. The knot wasn't very good at all, so it should come loose with a good tug or two. He leans over Hijikata's body and puts his arms behind his waist, searching for an end to pull on.

The back of his neck prickles. He looks up into the office.

Kagura is holding her carton of milk, with a pink moustache, leering down at him in utter disgust.

Gintoki springs away from Hijikata, hands up in surrender. "Wait, haha, um, wait- I'm not- I just want my clothes-"

Kagura resolutely grabs the collar of Gintoki's favourite outfit, and begins to drag Hijikata by it over towards the couch as effortlessly as if he were a bag of recyclables.

"Wait, Kagura-chan, _Kagura-chan_ it's gonna rip if you keep pulling that hard, please--" Gintoki scrambles after her, slipping on the hardwood along the way.

She tosses Hijikata on to the couch, and places herself between it and Gintoki. She points towards his bedroom, unblinking. Unyielding.

"Go to bed."

Gintoki has already lost, and sputters pathetically, "But-- my-"

" _Go to bed._ "

He already exhausted all his best begging earlier, and Kagura is not in any state of humour to entertain him with some bad play-acting. She is both as sturdy and immovable as a statue of some long-renowned warrior goddess, and as poised to hurtle his sorry ass right through a wall as... as she ever is.

Decisively conquered, Gintoki shuffles to his feet and slouches off towards his bedroom. He slams the door a little bit.


	4. Epilogue

Despite the state of the guest he brought in, Gintoki is still the last one to wake up the following day, by a wide margin. It’s an uncharacteristically gentle awakening. Instead of Shinpachi pulling his covers off in one cruel swoop, or Kagura pinching his nose shut until he starts to suffocate, or Hijikata gently kicking him in the head, what finally beckons him towards consciousness is the savory odour of grilled fish wafting into his room. 

That alone is strange. Did he even _have_ fish in the fridge? Besides the main issue, the last time Kagura tried cooking a protein they had to call the fire department, so she’s not the one making breakfast. But it can’t be Shinpachi either- he’d _definitely_ have nagged Gintoki into getting up before reaching this point of meal preparation. What’s…

…

… No way. It _can’t_ be, can it? Forget the debilitating hangover that he _must_ be suffering from, Hijikata would _never_ do something as unabashedly romantic as make breakfast for him, in his own house, _and_ the pair of brats who forbade him from even staying over, right?

He wouldn’t… right? He doesn’t even know how to cook, does he?? What the hell is happening???

Foreboding curiosity, and the fact that he went to sleep hungry last night, pull Gintoki up and out of the futon in record time. He doesn’t bother with his bedding and walks right to the door. He’s almost scared to open it. He does it anyways, slowly and quietly.

At first glance, he can’t figure out what’s off. Shinpachi is at the stove- it was him after all, huh. Kagura is on the couch, watching Ketsuno Ana (he’d recognize her sweet voice anywhere) on the morning news. Sadaharu is sitting behind her, receiving regular chin scratches over the back of the cushion.

Subtracting himself from the picture, it’s just an average weekend morning. But there’s a palpable feeling of wrongness in the atmosphere that he cannot for the life of him place.

A toilet flushes, then moments later Hijikata exits the WC.

He looks like roadkill. His hair is sticking up in some odd places, his colour is terrible, his shirt is wrinkled and sloppy, and his eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that he _certainly_ can’t see, but he still somehow shambles over to the couch opposite Kagura’s and lowers his waist on to it without a single word.

Nobody moves an inch. Shinpachi keeps tending to the cooktop. Kagura keeps her eyes on the television. The room is dead silent but for Ketsuno Ana’s morning horoscopes, and the ambient noises of the kitchen.

Gintoki feels like he’s been frozen in place at the site of a devastating highway wreck. He can’t tear his body from its doorway vantage. His head is totally empty. He is utterly powerless, as a spectator to this stomach churning portrait of shocking _awkwardness._

What happened? What the hell _happened_ before he woke up?! The air in the room is so thick with silent tension that Gintoki feels like his organs are being slowly crushed by it. Like one of those slow motion videos of a car being turned into a cube by an industrial compactor. This is terrible. This is the worst. He would’ve shelled out _all_ his money for a cab last night to just dump Hijikata’s sorry ass on a hotel doorstep, if he’d known this was going to happen.

But _no!!_ Him and his bleeding goddamn heart!!!!

He’s just about mustered enough bravery to move again and shut the door, then break the window in his bedroom so he can run the _hell_ away from the scene of this calamity as fast as he physically can, when Shinpachi looks over his shoulder. He fixes Gintoki with a thin, visibly tense smile. His eyes are bloodshot and dark, his empty gaze portraying such hopeless despair that the psychic strength of it speaks on its own: _Help._

Gintoki shakes his head desperately, and sends his own psychic message back across the room. _Hell no! It sucks in here! Why do I have to wake up to this!!_

Shinpachi stops smiling. Pointedly. He flicks his eyes over to Hijikata, then back to Gintoki, accusing. _Are you kidding me? This is all your fault to begin with!_

“What are you guys doing, making faces at each other without saying anything?” Kagura asks, glancing between the two of them with a sour expression. “Stop being weird.”

“B-breakfast is ready!!”, Shinpachi ignores her and shrills, anxiety writ in his every feature.

“ _Uhh g’morning_ ,” Gintoki says in a horrific attempt at casual, far louder than normal, at the exact same time.

Kagura glances back and forth again and rolls her eyes with a scoff, clearly unaffected by the stifling atmosphere.

The Yato really are made of sterner stuff than mere humans, huh!! What impossibly thick skin!!

Hijikata is still as a statue on the sofa opposite hers, and Gintoki understands at a glance that he’s exercising an age old survival tactic in this most threatening of environments he’s found himself awoken in- he’s playing dead. After the last time he shared this specific room with this specific pair of teenagers, Gintoki wouldn’t dare blame him. They had enough outrage to throw his own way back then, but the interloper in their midst got the worst of it by far. If the stress of that morning were in a past just slightly less recent, Gintoki would be cracking up at the memory of the sweaty abject panic on Hijikata’s face while Kagura demanded of him his “intentions towards our Gin-chan”.

He’s still _slightly_ too mortified by the implications of that to appreciate its objective hilarity, though. He sends some sympathy Hijikata’s way as he passes him by to grudgingly join Shinpachi in the kitchen.

As soon as Gintoki steps up beside him to help get the tableware out, like the gracious freaking host that he is, the little turd kicks him in the shin.

“ _Ow!!”_ he whisper-hisses, carefully at a volume below the morning news, jabbing back with his own foot in retaliation.

Before he can complain any further Shinpachi is whisper-hissing straight back at him, “ _How could you do this again?! What’s wrong with you!!_ ”

“ _Do_ ** _what_** _again!! You don’t even know what happened! Nobody’s said a single word this entire morning yet, have they!_ _I could tell as soon as I opened the door!!_ ”

“ _Well what am I supposed to think?! Showing up here first thing to Hijikata-san asleep on the couch, dressed in your clothes!!_ ”

There… There’s not much Gintoki can say to that. That’s pretty damning.

Except they didn’t _do_ anything damning! What’s he feeling guilty for, all of a sudden!

“ _Look, nothing happened like you’re imagining, alright? There were extenuating circumstances! I’ll explain everything, so stop kicking me!”_

“I’m hungry,” Kagura shouts from the sitting area. “I’m gonna start eating the rice, 'k?"

The matter is put on hold for the moment while the two of them scramble to get the table set before Kagura shovels the whole appliance into her mouth. Apart from the standard miso soup one could reasonably expect from Shinpachi’s culinary repertoire, he procured four cuts of fish from _somewhere_ and lightly salted them before cooking, and even got ahold of a few fresh vegetables that Gintoki knows for certain that he did not have in his fridge to make a simple salad. 

… The amount of extra effort here surpasses the amount of complaining he’s done by a longshot. The second he opened the door and saw who was passed out on the couch, Pattsan ran right back out to get the ingredients for a freaking four course breakfast menu, didn’t he? He’s _never_ made just the three of them fish before. What the hell.

Tch, Shinpachi’s always had more respect for _Hijikata-san_ than his own boring old self to begin with. He’s already treating him like some kind of in-law. There’s even an ashtray on the corner of the table already. Little suck-up.

When it’s time to sit down and enjoy, Gintoki naturally moves to take a seat beside the guy he brought over, take responsibility for his actions and everything, but Kagura gives him a Look over her stuffed cheeks. With an earnestly exasperated sigh, he sits down beside her instead. They weren’t gonna hold hands all through breakfast or anything. For crying out loud.

Hijikata is still sitting straight as a board, but with all this food laid out in front of him and Kagura already scarfing down her second towering bowl of rice, he’s started to awkwardly shift in his seat a little. He doesn’t seem to know where to look, so he’s just squinting down at his own knees.

Gintoki lightly kicks his shin under the coffee table. With his own mouth full of food, he reassures the nervous sap, “You can eat- it doesn’t look like they’re gonna make you kneel again.”

Hijikata meets his gaze, though he does at great irritation to his tired light-sensitive eyes. He glances at Shinpachi, who is eating with general composure, silently observing the goings on with suspicion for the moment. Then at Kagura, who is for all purposes completely uninterested in anything but the whole fillet she just tossed into her mouth like it was a potato chip.

He seems to judge his surroundings safe, and his frame relaxes. “Yeah,” he croaks, sounding just as wretchedly hungover as he looks. “Thanks for the food.”

Gintoki counts the number of bites that Hijikata takes (three) before, inevitably, he asks, “Do you have any mayonnaise?”

“Nope,” Gintoki lies with a perfectly straight face, because he bought the bottle of it in the fridge three weeks ago for _himself_ instead of anyone else who may potentially stop by now and then. “And even if I did I wouldn’t give you any. I’m sick of hearing you puke.”

“I wouldn’t puke,” Hijikata does not argue or insist, but rather states as immutable fact. “That would be a waste.”

“A waste is what it is when you put that shit on perfectly good food,” Gintoki replies, correctly. “You would even put it in the soup, wouldn’t you? And it would melt into all these disgusting gooey little flakes, and you’d just drink that like it wasn’t the most appalling combination of textures on the planet. Just thinking about it makes _me_ want to puke.”

“You just can’t appreciate the kind of elevated dining experience that mayonnaise turns even simple dishes into. And stop talking about puke when people are eating.”

“You were just talking about it too.”

“Because you brought it up in the first place.”

“Gin-chan,” Kagura interjects, having emptied the rice cooker and therefore finished eating. “Quit flirting with this gross weirdo.” Hijikata chokes on his mouthful of broth. Gintoki overwhelmingly wants to drag his hands down his face. “You said you’d explain why you brought him over last night, so explain already.”

“I’m also particularly interested in hearing this, Gin-san,” Shinpachi adds sarcastically, with a look of deep cynicism rooted in his boyish spectacled face. He’s gonna start going grey at age twenty if he keeps acting so world-weary.

Gintoki puts down his bowl and chopsticks and throws himself back against the couch with an annoyed groan. “I keep telling you both that _nothing dirty happened._ Why is that so hard to believe? Why are you so quick to be scandalized by poor Gin-san’s simple acts of kindness?”

Kagura haughtily crosses a knee over her leg, and shoots an irritated side-eye across the table at Shinpachi, muttering, “When I turned away for two seconds last night, they were rolling on the floor hugging.”

“ _Pardon_??” Shinpachi shrieks, all but shooting up out of his seat and flipping the table over. Hijikata has his head in his hands beside him. Probably from splitting pain as much as embarrassment.

Gintoki smacks a hand down on to his own knee and fires back, “I already _told_ you I was just trying to get my clothes back!! That was just a misunderstanding! _You_ were the one seeing something naughty when it wasn’t there to begin with. It’s because you were watching some perverted after midnight harem anime when I got back last night, isn’t it!”

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Kagura puffs. “The TV was off, wasn’t it? How do you know I was even watching anything?”

“Ha!” Gintoki laughs victoriously. “You don’t even have a good excuse. _That’s_ how I know. You think I was born yesterday, punk? I was taking peeks at dirty books before you were even born!”

“Only someone who does naughty things in the foyer when people aren’t looking would be proud of that!!”

“Sorry but… could you both quit yelling,” Hijikata interrupts in a strained and rasping voice. He’s got his palms over his ears, and his eyes are tightly shut like that will somehow soothe his hearing too.

“You be quiet, homewrecker.”

“Kagura-chan, uh, that doesn’t quite mean what you’re using it for,” Shinpachi butts in urgently. “For now let’s all just… calm down a little, ok?”

Like _he_ wasn’t clutching his pearls a minute ago, too. My, what a thick face you have, Pattsan!

“Gin-san.” Ah crap, did he realize what sort of thing he was thinking just now? “You keep saying that nothing… _inappropriate,_ happened, but you still haven’t told us anything yet. “

The kids are both just staring at him now. Expectant. Quiet and patient, ready to hear whatever it is he has to say.

It’s intimidating.

It’s really, _really_ intimidating!!

They’re never this reasonable! They never communicate without throwing some petty insult or judgment his way! He’s used to that! That’s natural! How’s he supposed to respond to _this?!_

Gintoki feels his mouth flap uselessly a few times. All the witty arguments he had prepared in his own defense are obsolete now. He’s about to back down with some bad jokes about the birds and the bees, just take his lumps for that, and whatever Shinpachi and Kagura are ready to assume about him and his debauched habits.

But… unexpectedly, he doesn’t have to.

“There, uh. There were... problems, on my end. And stuff. Last night.” Hijikata has recovered enough from the earlier barrage on his fragile senses to start… Well, not exactly explaining. Or making very much sense, generally. But he’s doing _something,_ and he’s trying.

Gintoki is so thrown aback at this strange and awkward lifeline he’s been given that he imagines he looks just as flabbergasted as the teenagers in the room. With all three of them gawking at him, Hijikata falters, and coughs a few times.

“What I mean is, uh, there was a work thing.” He can’t figure out who to keep eye contact with between everyone around the table giving him their rapt attention all of a sudden, but he quickly settles on Gintoki. Like he’s expecting him to start flashing cue cards his way.

Gintoki gives him a thumbs up on the side opposite Kagura’s line of sight. Doing great, Toushi. Keep it up.

There’s a sharp flash in Hijikata’s expression that makes Gintoki think he’s about to abandon his _riveting_ story, in favour of sending some choice words in his direction. He seems to quash the temptation fairly quick, though. Aw.

“A formality, with lots of pointless drinking,” Hijikata clarifies, with a final glare towards Gintoki before he settles on explaining himself like he set out to do. “I got caught up in it, badly, badly enough to end up…” He pauses, and makes a fast harsh sigh though his nose in obvious disgust. Rather more obviously still, towards himself.

“I wound up in a bad situation,” Hijikata summarizes, not untruthfully. Gintoki wouldn’t be too eager in his position either, to share that he never even had a chance to get a hand on his sword before he was on the ground.

“Yorozuya was in the area, for some reason, and… he…” Hijikata pauses again, probably lost for the appropriate words to describe the grand and heroic way Gintoki showed up _just_ in the nick of time to flawlessly save his ass. “Grand” and “heroic” would be a good place to start, though.

“He helped out a bit.”

Hey. Hey, now.

“Honestly I was in rough shape. I don’t remember much. But I do, uh, remember waking up here. So.” He gives Kagura and Shinpachi both another fast, uncertain glance. He balls his fists atop his thighs and bows his elbows formally, then deeply lowers his head. “S-sorry for imposing.”

Gintoki feels his own eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but they’ve got nothing on Shinpachi’s utter pratfall nearly off the sofa. He recovers quickly, and with a red-faced look of disturbed mortification he urges Hijikata, “No no no no no, there’s no imposition!! Please, raise your head!! There’s no need t-- right, Kagura-chan?”

As usual, Kagura is unmoved by even the most highly unforeseen turn of events, and has continued leering down at Hijikata with her legs and arms crossed the entire while. She’s probably just messing with him, though. Gintoki already resolved any hard feelings with the promise of cake, after all.

He’s noticed Hijikata starting to sweat under her oppressive gaze. As much fun as it is to see him squirm, _he_ likes to be the one making it happen, so he decides to cut the guy a break. Now they can call it even for the morning.

“I don’t mean to undermine your storytelling decisions or anything, Hijikata-kun,” Gintoki says cleverly but with an oh so casual air, “but why bother taking the blame here, when we both know the whole thing was that Souta-kun’s fault.”

“It’s “Sougo”,” Hijikata answers reflexively, at the same time that Kagura calls the person in question something positively _foul._

“Watch your mouth!!” Shinpachi reproaches her, looking aghast.

“I’m gonna pop that little muff stain’s arms off and shove them up his nose for inconveniencing me like this,” Kagura vows with a dark expression.

From that point, it’s total self-contained bedlam between the youngest people at the table, and Gintoki is able to deem his misdirection tactic a smashing success. He easily extracts Hijikata from the chaos by pushing a few used dishes into his hands, and saying something perfunctory about cleaning up that never gets a response.

In the comparative quiet of the kitchen area, Hijikata deposits his pile of tableware into the sink with slightly awkward movements, still looking rather agonized by the ruckus some dozen feet behind him. Gintoki nudges him to the side with an elbow so he can turn on the tap, with nothing much more pressing to do than make good on his word to accomplish a household chore, for once.

“I think I’ve got some cheap painkillers around here, if you want ‘em,” he offers absently, squirting a very modest amount of dish soap into the water. The shit costs more than you’d think.

“... I’ll take you up on that,” Hijikata winces.

“‘Kay. Check the first aid kit in the armoire first, there’s probably a few aspirin. You remember where, right?”

“Yeah.”

In spite of his response, Gintoki can feel Hijikata continuing to hover just to the left of him, not quite near enough to be touching but still well within arm’s reach. Near enough to be able to tell easily that he’s got no intention of leaving yet, and to feel the pair of eyes on him, then off him, then on him again, then off, then on, ad nauseum.

“What, you gonna hurl? You know where the toilet is, don’t look at me.”

“I already said I’m not gonna puke,” seems to be the hill Hijikata is intent to die on.

“Sure you’re not. At least try and keep the fish down, who knows how much Shinpachi spent on that. Talk about special treatment… Maybe he’s got a lil’ crush on you, Mr. Popular,” Gintoki teases, poking around beside him with some successful contact.

Hijikata stiffens under his prodding. Oh, shit. Did he hit the “upchuck” button?

“I’ll… I can reimburse you for the meal,” Hijikata says, which is just completely absurd enough to make Gintoki stop doing the dishes and look at him.

Hijikata is standing with his back leant against the counter, arms crossed self-consciously over his wrinkled button down. It’s obviously hurting his eyes to keep them off the floor for so long, but he’s matching Gintoki’s gaze with a sort of… odd expression.

Gintoki’s back feels ticklish for some reason. “N-nah, don’t bother with that,” he says with a dismissive wave that throws a few suds on to Hijikata’s clothes. “You always treat when we’re eating out, don’t worry ‘bout it.

What… the heck is this, all of a sudden.

“That’s-! That’s not, I mean,” Hijikata attempts to argue, doing an absolutely piss poor job of it, and prolonging the weird atmosphere he created for _no reason._

“Just accept my hospitality, you clod!” Gintoki throws more suds at him, on purpose. His face feels hot.

Hijikata backs down, verbally at least, but his mouth is doing that thing. It’s all tightly shut, and starting to twist where he’s sucking on the inside of his lip. It’s gotta _hurt_ doing that, with the bottom of his face so banged up.

Gintoki sighs, and dries his hands on the back of his pajamas. “How much do you _actually_ remember,” he asks, even though he already knows the answer by now.

“All of it,” Hijikata admits, staring at the floor.

“So? What’s the problem? Was the piggyback ride too bumpy?” Gintoki badgers him with a _perfect_ veneer of careless cheek, while praying desperately to God and Buddha and Kamen Rider all together for him not to mention the thing with the borrowed clothing.

“I _do_ feel sore in some places I know I didn’t get kicked,” Hijikata plays along.

Yep, just playing along. Gintoki doesn’t have a clue what he could be talking about. “Oh? How strange,” he remarks, innocently. “But that’s it, right? There’s nothing to get all worked up about. Your pet gorilla said he’d get me a parfait, so quit trying to buy me off.”

Hijikata doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but the horrible air of penance coming off him worse than the booze still exiting his system through his pores is at least gone.

“ _Look_ ,” Gintoki needles, determined to put the thing to rest, “if you _really_ wanna make it up to me, just take me somewhere expensive next time. I’ll drink way too much, then _you_ can carry _me_ back. I’m gonna stuff myself so full I can’t move, so you better start training your core. I’m gonna put you to work. Got it?”

The expression Hijikata is making at him is mostly inscrutable, under the way his face is trying to squeeze its whole self shut against the late morning glare coming even distantly through the window. But Gintoki unmistakably catches a little smile on it, if only for a second.

He feels his chest sorta… pucker on the inside. Like an asshole.

“Fine. I got it,” Hijikata finally complies, letting his hands fall easily into his pockets. He still doesn’t make any move to go get his painkillers, but Gintoki supposes he’s fine with him hanging around a bit longer.

Someone needs to teach this guy how to just say “thank you” like a normal person, he laments.

The longer he washes the dishes for his silent sometimes audience of one, the more Gintoki wants to flick some more soap at him. By the time he’s just about finished rinsing one of the last plates, the urge is nearly uncontrollable, and he’s already been taking sneaky sideways glimpses to find an opening. But when he sees his chance, handful of suds at the ready, he gets another kind of impulse suddenly.

“ _Mmmmuuuu,_ ” he croons annoyingly through the exaggerated purse of his lips, leaning in just shy of Hijikata’s earlobe to stop and wait for a smooch he’s definitely not gonna get.

He shuts his eyes, anticipating a palm to land on his mouth and push it away. He plans to give that palm a big old slobbery lick and elicit the usual blushing affronted squawk, which, despite its predictability, is still no less entertaining no matter how many times he gets to see it.

Instead of any of that, what Gintoki gets is a hand firmly gripping his cheeks in a hard pinch up under his mouth. There’s nothing in reach of his tongue at all- his attack has been skillfully preempted. Damn.

“Mrgh,” he grunts, opening his eyes to glare plaintively, just in time for his view to become eclipsed once more by some dark eyelashes.

Hijikata’s nose brushes his own, and his dry, chapped lips touch Gintoki’s mouth for a long moment.

Then he lets go of Gintoki’s face and leans back against the counter again, re-crossing his arms. There’s a pink flush creeping faster and faster up the back of his neck.

“Wha-”

Gintoki feels the blood rushing to his own head too, but there are already gleeful snickers bubbling through his nose and mouth.

“What was _that?”_ he grins, laughter growing deeper and deeper in his stomach with every shade darker that Hijikata’s face blushes as he _decisively_ doesn’t look at him. “Gosh. So pure. Takes me back to kindergarten, it does. You’re making Gin-san all nostalgic now, you innocent little charmer, you. Do you know what a grown-up kiss is, cherry boy?”

“Shut it,” Hijikata grumbles, lobster-coloured. “‘s the best I can do with my lip all swollen, you ass.”

Gintoki fully intends to keep teasing him, for the next hour possibly, but without a moment’s notice Hijikata goes white as the dishes in the sink. He’s frozen solid, adam’s apple tense at his throat like he’s about to start choking on it. With nauseating dread, Gintoki slowly follows his line of sight.

Across the room, Shinpachi is standing between the coffee table and the nearest couch with the empty rice cooker in his hands, head locked in the direction of the kitchen as if by rigor mortis. His expression, and the mercurial hue of his face, tell Gintoki precisely how long he’s been looking over their way.

  
Oh, god _damn_ it all.


End file.
